My Husband Let His Pregnant Boss Treat Me Like A Servant — He Didn’t Know I Secretly Owned The Mansion
Part 2
Turning on my heel, Dan was left standing there with his chest puffed out like a proud rooster.
Navigating through the sea of guests, my face remained a mask of absolute stone as I slipped into the dim corridor leading to the butler’s pantry.
A glass of water sounded perfect right now.
More importantly, exactly sixty seconds of silence were required to align my next strike.
As I reached for a crystal tumbler, the heavy thud of hurried footsteps echoed from the hall.
Craig’s frantic voice hissed in the darkness, followed immediately by the sharp click of Heather’s stilettos.
They slipped into the alcove just on the other side of the carved wooden partition, completely unaware that I was standing mere inches away.
“You need to fix this right now, Craig.”
Heather’s voice lost all its sultry professional polish.
“Your card declined in front of me, and your deranged wife is embarrassing me in front of the most important investors in the city.”
Craig let out a desperate, placating sigh.
“The card declining is just a bank glitch.”
“As for Megan, she is throwing a tantrum because she knows her time is up.”
I stood perfectly still in the dark pantry, the cold crystal pressed against my palm.
“You cannot let her stress me out like this.”
Heather’s tone suddenly dropped into a sickeningly sweet, manipulative pitch.
“Our baby deserves better than this chaos.”
The glass in my hand nearly slipped through my fingers.
A baby.
For five years, Craig had allowed Brenda to make snide remarks about my barren womb at every holiday dinner.
And here he was gently rubbing the stomach of his corporate superior, promising to build a future for their unborn child.
Biting the inside of my cheek so hard it drew blood was the only way to keep from laughing out loud.
The medical files locked in my personal safe upstairs verified his absolute, irreversible sterility.
He was literally plotting to throw me away to play house with another man’s baby.
“I know, baby,” Craig murmured, his voice thick with false devotion.
“I have the quitclaim deed sitting on my desk right now.”
“The second her signature is on that paper, I am changing the alarm codes and throwing her cheap luggage onto the lawn.”
Heather let out a satisfied hum, but her anxiety quickly returned.
“What about the ten million dollar buy-in for my investment fund?”
“If you do not deliver the money, you do not get the partnership.”
Craig let out a low, arrogant chuckle.
“Dan and I took care of it weeks ago.”
I leaned closer to the wooden slats, pulling my phone from my clutch and silently pressing the record button.
“Dan had his internal appraiser forge the valuation on this estate,” Craig boasted.
“We pushed through a ghost cash-out refinance under his real estate firm and drained three million dollars straight into an offshore shell account.”
He laughed again, a dark, conspiratorial sound.
“Megan has absolutely no idea she is currently living in a property drowning in fraudulent debt.”
“It is the perfect crime.”
The sheer magnitude of their stupidity washed over me in freezing waves.
They had executed an elaborate federal mortgage fraud scheme under the absolute assumption that Craig was the sole legal owner of the property.
They had no idea that the deed to this Buckhead mansion was locked tight inside an irrevocable trust established by my late grandfather.
Craig had not drained the equity out of my home.
He had stolen three million dollars directly from Dan’s investors.
I stopped the recording, securely uploading the audio file directly to my cloud server.
Would you have called the police right then, or would you have walked back into that kitchen to burn their entire empire to the ground?
